


Breakwater

by belikebumblebee



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-25
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 14:57:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belikebumblebee/pseuds/belikebumblebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The roles of Saviors and The Ones Who Need Saving are not to be carved in stone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breakwater

They say ,what does not kill you makes you stronger‘, and during the course of her life, Emma has found that to be a huge pile of crap.  
  
What makes you stronger is the hard training you keep up because that which almost killed you still scares the shit out of you.  
Emma has forced herself to learn a lot of things, and self confidence is on the very top of that list (right above ,how to throw a punch‘ and ,never owe anyone anything‘) - she‘s told herself that she‘s an adaptor, a survivor, and not to be messed with.  
But the self-doubt always lingered, licking at her boots like ripples of dirty water every now and then...  
The moment Emma sees Henry, the waves crash above her head.  
  
She is not cut out for this.  
  
He‘s fifty yards away and she can‘t see his face, but with the way his shoulders are slumped and the wind tugs and pulls at his hair, Emma _doesn‘t know what to do_ , how do you care for someone this much? And when you do, how can you be stupid and fucked up enough as to let him end up here, fifty yards close to a bunch of dead bodies and an entire dimension away from home?  
  
From behind her, Regina calls Henry‘s name and runs towards him; Emma follows her almost automatically. She can‘t keep up with Regina though, her whole body aches. Her feet drag. Her cold hands are clamped around the handle of her dagger, sticky with the salty sea air and sand, and hurting like _hell_ from the impact of metal hitting metal... Emma longs for home in a way she hasn‘t since she was seven fucking years old, but right now she can‘t cave, she can‘t falter. Here is the wonderful boy who needs her to be home and she is out of breath.  
  
Henry turns around. He looks so small, so lost, so alone when he recognizes them. Emma could rip off her own face and it would hurt less.  
His voice is hoarse and trembles when he sobs out _Mommy_ \- and Regina is already there to scoop him up like he weighs _nothing_. Like his clothes aren‘t drenched with sea water. Like she isn‘t weakened at all. His arms and legs wrap around her as he cries, cries, cries and she sits down with him, no care in the world for her cashmere coat or _anything_ but him.  
  
Something hard and round and giant forms in Emma‘s throat, it pushes and hurts and her eyes sting, but that‘s just the wind - just the wind.  
  
Regina is rocking back and forth with her arms entwined protectively around her son (their son) and Emma draws a ragged breath because-  
Regina kisses his temple, smoothes his hair and whispers to him a steady flow of _It‘s okay, baby. Shushush, calmate. I‘m here. It‘s all right. I‘m here. We‘re all here, todo saldrá bien. We‘re all right. You‘re all right._ \- Emma is _grateful_.  
  
Grateful that Henry is being held and whispered to and loved; here and now and all the times before that. When he was hurt or sad or scared and Regina was his mother the way she is now.  
  
Her voice is soothing and unwavering and it is the strongest thing Emma has ever seen anyone do-  
her own legs are shaking at the sight of her kid (so lost, so drained), the dagger falls useless to her feet when her clammy fingers can‘t hold it up anymore.  
And then their eyes meet and where Emma is the sea, troubled and torn in a thunderstorm, Regina is the shore, solid like a rock.  
Emma‘s knees give in and she almost doesn‘t notice until she‘s kneeling in the sand beside them; her fingers cling to Henry‘s foot, his back, his arm, just to make sure he is really _there_ and _whole_ -  _this is her kid, their son_ \- he catches her hand and she holds on for dear life. Somewhere in between Henry‘s incoherent mumbling about the awful things he had to see and the rush of mindless relief that he‘s alive - _alive_ \- Henry - _Henry Henry_ \- Emma reaches the end of her rope. She just breaks down into an overwhelmed, tired, human mess, right there on the beach, with her forehead pressed to her son‘s mother‘s knee.  
  
Regina lets her cry on her pantsuit for an entire minute before pressing her wrist into Emma‘s shoulder, almost hard enough to hurt. It‘s not an empty gesture of comfort, no touch meant to be affectionate. But it _grounds_ her. It reminds her.  
  
Forcing her lungs to expand and take in as much air as they can hold, Emma sits up, whispering _okay okay okay okay okay..._ She opens her eyes and catches Regina examining her, firm and scrutinizing, before she loosens her arms around Henry.  
He turns to launch his body at Emma and she hugs him hard. Rests her chin on his head, exhaling shakily.  
  
The three of them are still sitting in the sand like they should not get the hell out of there, like Snow and David and Hook aren‘t waiting for them.  
  
 _Thank you_ , Emma mouths. With a slight tilt of her head, Regina blinks at her ever so slowly, like the world‘s most silent _you‘re welcome_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope I didn't go overboard with the drama?


End file.
